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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28105707">Out In The Cold</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mageicalwishes/pseuds/mageicalwishes'>mageicalwishes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Carry On Countdown 2020 [21]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Carry On Countdown 2020 (Simon Snow), Carry On Countdown Day 21, Cuddling For Warmth (And Definitely Not Because They Fancy Eachother), Fangirl Based Simon Snow Canon, Fangirl Era, Fluff, Getting Together, Kissing, M/M, Oblivious Simon Snow, Stuck in a snow storm</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:02:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,561</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28105707</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mageicalwishes/pseuds/mageicalwishes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon and Baz get stuck in a snowstorm, and have to find a way to stay warm.<br/>Fangirl era - Based off of Cath's fic exert from Fangirl, and loosely inspired by art from @letraspal on Tumblr.<br/>Carry On Countdown, Day 21 - Warmth</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch &amp; Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Carry On Countdown 2020 [21]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2027147</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>87</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Carry On Countdown 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Out In The Cold</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u"> <strong>Simon</strong> </span>
</p><p>“You prat, Snow! See what you’ve done? Now we’re stuck out here all night!” </p><p>“Hey! How is it <em> my </em> fault?” </p><p>“Oh gee, I don’t know!” He mocks. “Maybe because<em> you </em> got in <em> my </em> way. Maybe because <em> you </em> insist on stalking me, like some deluded bloodhound!” </p><p>A growl rises up in my chest, but I  clench my jaw to keep trapped inside. <em> He doesn’t deserve the satisfaction. The irritating prick.  </em></p><p>“That’s not <em> my </em> fault!” I argue. “If <em> you </em> weren’t so bloody … nefarious all the time, I wouldn't <em> have </em> to keep an eye on you! And, need I remind you that, <em> you’re </em> the one who kept arguing with me. We could’ve made it back if you just shut up, for once. But <em> oh no! </em> You just <em> had </em> to give me the whole ‘Worst Chosen One Who's Ever Been Chosen’ speech! You’re just as much to blame as I am, so <em> piss off </em> trying to put it all on me!” </p><p>He glares at me and snarls, contemptuously. Looking at me like I’m a piece of dirt, staining the bottom of his stupidly fancy, posho school shoes (He says their Italian. I don’t know <em> how </em> that makes them any better than other shoes, but apparently it does. <em> Arrogant toff).  </em></p><p>“Well, I hope you enjoy freezing to death!” He cheers, brushing himself off. “But, I’m getting out of here. Luckily <em> some </em> of us can actually <em> control </em> our magic.” </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“It’s <em> not </em> going to work. Just stop! You’re giving me a headache.” </p><p>He’s been trying to cast a <b> <em>‘There’s no place like home’</em> </b> for at least an hour now, because he’s too proud to admit that he <em> can’t </em> . But it’s a waste of time - And magic. No matter <em> how </em> good he is, that’s still an eighth-year spell. So, he has about as much chance of getting it as I do. </p><p>“Good,” he spits. “That’s the <em> least </em> you deserve.” </p><p>I thump at his knee with my fist. “Oi! <em> Don’t </em>be a dickhead. Just … sit down, yeah? I’ve got an Aero bar. You can have half if you want?” </p><p>He peers down his nose at me (It’s too-high, and terribly crooked - I did that to him in fourth-year. I’m kind of proud of it, to be honest. His face was too perfect, before. He needed to be knocked down a few pegs). </p><p>“Why?” He asks, clearly suspicious. </p><p>“Because we’re gonna be out here for a while? I thought you’d get hungry. Or do vampires not get hungry? Do you even eat? I’ve never<em> seen </em> you eat properly. I mean … I know the rats -” He holds his hand up to stop me, flicking his hair back and settling himself down besides me, with a frown. </p><p><em> “How </em> many times do I have to tell you? I’m <em> not </em>a vampire.” </p><p>I want to argue (‘Cause he definitely is), but, I figure, if we’re going to be locked outside all night, I probably shouldn’t piss him off <em> too </em> much. He might murder me in my sleep, or something. There’s no anthema out here. And that’s probably all that’s stopped him from doing it before now. </p><p>“Fine,” I drone. “So … Do you want it? Or nah?” </p><p>“Well, it <em> is </em> our <em> only </em> source of food.”</p><p>“So …? It’s a yes or no question.” </p><p>“So … What flavour is it?” He asks, staring down at my trouser pocket. Nervousness prickling under my skin. </p><p>“Mint.”</p><p>“That’s my favourite,” he admits, grudgingly. <em> (So he does eat food. Interesting). </em> </p><p>I smile without meaning to, pulling out the bar and snapping it in half (Luckily, I had the common sense to buy a large one). “Mine, too”</p><p>I pass it over to him, and jolt backwards with a start as our fingers brush together. Dropping his half of the Aero into the snow. </p><p><em> “Jesus, </em> you feel like a corpse! What - You’re <em> freezing, </em> Baz!” </p><p>“Yes. Very observant, Snow.”</p><p>“Cast something then!?” I say, matter-of-factly. “Keep yourself warm. It’s not hard.” </p><p>He looks down, scrunching up his face - An un-Baz-like level of shyness overtaking him. Before mumbling out a quiet “I can’t”. </p><p>“What? Yeah you can,” I laugh. “You’re such a shit liar! I’ve seen you do it, like, a hundred times. You’re wicked at magic, you c<em> an </em> do a heating spell. What are you on about?” </p><p>“No, Snow. I can’t. I used it all up.” </p><p>“Used what all up?” </p><p>He groans, tugging at his hair in frustration <em> (He really shouldn’t do that. His hair is proper nice. And Penny says that pulling at your hair too much can make it fall out. It would be a shame if he lost his).  </em></p><p>“Christ, you really <em> are </em> thick. My <em> magic, </em> Snow. I can’t cast anything because I’ve drained it.” </p><p>“What? How?” </p><p>“I may have overdone it with my <b> <em>‘There’s no place like home’</em></b>s. I just … need to sleep. And <em> eat. </em> Then I’ll be fine.” </p><p>“But … that’ll take hours?” </p><p>“Yes. I’m aware of how long it takes to rest-up, thank you very much.” His voice is cold. And distant. Like he’s bored of our conversation, already (Which is just<em> typical </em> Baz). </p><p>“Twat,” I grumble. “Surely you’ll like … freeze before then? You can’t cast <em> anything </em> if you go and give yourself hypothermia, no matter how well rested you are!” </p><p>“Yes well, I didn’t <em> plan </em> to get stuck out here in the middle of a blizzard, did I?!”</p><p>It’s hardly a blizzard <em> (Overdramatic sod). </em> But it’s definitely cold. And the temperature is only going to drop further as the night goes on. So … it’s definitely a problem. He’s shivering already, and I’m catching a definite chill. But, I didn’t bother bringing a coat with me, so I can’t even offer him anything to help. We’ll just have to wait it out. Unless ...</p><p>“Let me heat you up, yeah?” I offer.</p><p>“No thanks,” he snickers. “I’d rather take my chances with the cold, than get blown up by one of <em> your </em>attempts at casting.”</p><p>I sweep my arm across the floor, and chuck a load of snow into his lap <em> (Which, thinking about it, was a really bad idea, since a frozen crotch definitely isn’t gonna’ help heat him up. He did deserve it, though).  </em></p><p>He gawks at me, outraged, and I rush out an apology, but he doesn’t seem impressed. So, we sit, stewing in an angry silence, not a single word exchanged, until I can’t bear to watch him tremble anymore. </p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t even <em> mean </em> with magic, okay? My wand is back in the room, so I couldn’t, even if I wanted to”</p><p>“Oh <em> wow!” </em> He jeers. “Now <em> why </em> doesn’t that surprise me? The Mini Mage, stumbling into danger, <em> completely </em> unprepared. Never seen <em> that </em> before, have we?” </p><p><em> “Fuck off, okay! </em> I’m trying to <em> help </em> you. Just - Just, take some of mine, yeah?</p><p>“Take some of your <em> what? </em> What are you on about?” </p><p>“My warmth.” </p><p>“Your warmth?” He echoes, looking at me like I’m being an extra-special idiot, even though I’m definitely not! <em> (It’s a good plan … Granted, it’s a bit of a weird one, but it should work. And it’s definitely better than his. Freezing to death doesn’t even count as a plan!) </em></p><p>“Yeah, just … take it,” I explain, plainly, reaching out and grabbing a hold of his hands. Wrapping the warmth of my palms around his shaking fingers. </p><p>He swallows, thickly. Staring down at our hands in silence, eyes wide with shock. <em> Shit. He’s totally going to kill me for this.  </em></p><p>“You don’t have to,” He chokes, voice pulled tight. “I’ll be fine”</p><p>“I know. I want to though.” </p><p>He sucks in a breath, and tears his hands away. Pressing them to his cheeks in an attempt to heat themself <em> (Like that’s going to do anything!). </em></p><p>“Stop being stubborn!” I whine. “Just let me help you, it’s not a big deal.” </p><p>“Yeah, maybe not for you. But cuddling up to Simon Snow is <em> really </em> not how I want to go out.”  </p><p>“You’re not going to <em> ‘go out’ </em> at all. You just have to let me help you, and we’ll both be fine.” </p><p>“I’ll wait for my magic, thanks.” </p><p>“So, what?” I shout, throwing my arms out. “You’d rather die than just like … sit near me.” </p><p>“It’s a little more than sitting near to you,” he chaffs. </p><p>“Am I <em> really </em> that bad?” I ask, voice smaller than I mean it to be. “I’m literally just trying to help you. It’s not a trick, or anything? I’m not <em> you.”  </em></p><p>He looks up, pristine brows furrowed and lips tilted downwards. “I didn’t mean - Look, Snow, I appreciate the offer,<em> really I do. </em>I just - I don’t want … not like this, okay?” </p><p>“Not like what? What does that even <em> mean? </em>”</p><p>“Never you mind what that <em> means,” </em> he scolds. “I don’t know why I’m even - The cold is getting to my head. Just let me rest now, okay?” </p><p>“No!” I object. <em> “Crowley, seriously, what is your problem?! </em> I get that you don’t like me, or whatever, but I’m not just gonna’ sit here and watch you freeze to death? You’re already freakishly cold, I’ll doubt you’ll be able to just … grin and bear it!” </p><p><em> “Why not? </em>That’s always been where this is headed. We’re just bringing the inevitable forwards a little.” </p><p>That hurts me. I don’t know why, exactly, but it does. </p><p>Just because that <em> is </em> how this ends, doesn’t mean that I really <em> want </em> that. And it doesn’t mean <em> he </em> does, either. We shouldn’t just … roll over and accept it. We shouldn’t <em> relish </em> in it. Sometimes … with the way he talks, I think he may want it - Think he may really <em> have </em> a deathwish. But, I try not to dwell on it. That’s <em> far </em> too big for me to know what to do with (Most things are, these days). </p><p>“Just … what do you mean <em> ‘Not like this’? </em> If there’s something else that we can do to keep you warm, just tell me and we’ll try it! Don’t make things difficult.”</p><p>“There<em> isn’t </em>anything else,” he mumbles, squeezing his knees together. </p><p>“Then what do you <em> mean? </em> What can I do?” I reach out and grab his hands again. He doesn’t pull them away this time, but he’s still frozen taut, arms held awkwardly tense. “Look, I <em> really </em> didn’t mean to get us stuck out here, okay? So just, <em> please.” </em> </p><p>“I don’t want it like this.” </p><p>“Okay,” I breath, shuffling closer and pressing my thigh against his. “What do you mean by <em> ‘it’? </em> I just - I’m <em> trying </em> to give you what you want, but I don’t understand. Just … be clearer, yeah” </p><p>He looks skywards, eyes avoiding mine. “You.” </p><p><em> “Me?” </em> I repeat. “You don’t want … me like this?” </p><p>“Yes,” he says, shuddering slightly. “Basically.” </p><p>“What does that <em> mean? </em> You … <em> want </em> me?” </p><p>He huffs out a laugh, breath visible in the winter's air, twisting out of him like dragon smoke. “Unfortunately.” </p><p>I feel like my head is gonna’ implode. I mean … <em>what?</em> <em>Does hypothermia make you hallucinate? I didn’t think so, but maybe? When the Mage sent me after the Sirens, and I got it, I didn’t really get … confused? Just cold. Really fucking cold (It felt like my heart was going to give in at one point. It kinda’ does now too, actually). </em></p><p>“What does that even - You don’t even <em> like </em> me! How could you ‘want’ me?”</p><p>He shrugs (Even though he never just … shrugs). “I just don’t want to do this, alright?” </p><p>“No!” I shout <em> (I’m not angry at him. Not really, I don’t think. But he does need to stop just … saying that he’s gonna’ let himself freeze). </em> “It’s not <em> alright, </em> Baz. I don’t - I don’t understand what your <em> problem </em> is! But you <em> need </em> to let me help you! I’m sorry, but we don’t really have any other options.”</p><p>He opens his mouth to object, but I shut him up - Grabbing hold of him and wrapping my arms around his waist. Pulling his body into my chest and laying my legs over his. </p><p>“Simon-” </p><p>“Shhh,” I soothe, words mumbling into his hair. “I won’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about. And you can go back to hating me tomorrow. Just let me help you this once.” </p><p>He’s quiet for a moment, nuzzling his face into the side of my neck, and sighing contentedly. As I try to stop myself from jumping - His skin, ice against mine.  </p><p>“I don’t hate you,” He whispers. Barely-there confession numbing my mind. </p><p>“You don’t?” I ask, disbelieving. Tracing my thumb over the curve of his waist as I talk. He feels thinner than I thought he would (Although, I don’t really know why I thought about it at all, to be honest). I want to bundle him up. To keep him warm, and safe, and … I don’t know. Happy? <em> Is he happy? </em></p><p>“Not really. No.” </p><p>“Then … <em> why?” </em> </p><p>“Why <em> what?”  </em></p><p>“Why, like … <em> everything? </em> All these years? If you don’t hate me then … <em> Why?”  </em></p><p>“You hate me. My family hates you. It’s simpler this way.” </p><p>
  <em> Do I hate him? I think I do. He can be a real prick, sometimes. And he thinks he’s better than everybody else. And he’s a monster … Well, kind of. I know he eats (Drinks?) rats. I haven’t actually seen him attack a person yet, but he probably has. Although … I suppose he’s not all bad. He’s wicked smart. And he’s probably nice to Dev and Niall. And, Penny is right … He hasn’t tried anything serious against me since Fifth year. Mostly he’s just a little … catty. A lot of the time I actually look forward to our fights. In some weird, fucked up way they’re fun. And I like being at the centre of his attention (If he’s with me, then I know he’s not out doing evil stuff. That’s all).  </em>
</p><p>“I don’t,” I say, sounding a lot more sure than I actually am <em> (I’m good at that - Pretending. I always do it when I’m going after monsters. I pretend like I know what I’m doing. Pretend that I’m going to survive. Pretend that I’m going to get an endgame. I’ve had a lot of practice over the years). </em> “And … how does making me think that you hate me help, exactly?” </p><p>“I don’t know.” </p><p>“Then … why do it?” </p><p><em> “Because, </em> Snow,” he mourns, voice tired. “What <em> else </em> am I supposed to do with it?” </p><p>I squeeze him tighter, pulling him in. His face has gone all crumbly again <em> (It does that when he’s stressed. It always happens during exams - Even though he aces them all. And sometimes, when I’m too persistent with my ‘surveillance’, I can see it happening).  </em></p><p>I didn’t think that you could really <em> crave </em> something cold, that you could find yourself drawn towards it (Except for ice cream, I suppose). But, Baz is the type of cold that I want to cover. That I want to heat, by hand, and cheek, and stomach. With all I have.</p><p>I want to wrap myself up in him, until he’s warm again. He feels good like this - In my arms. And so, I hold him close, while I can <em> (He’s already getting warmer, and he’ll probably send me away once he’s more … himself). </em></p><p>He slumps in my arms. “Baz,” I worry. “I can - I can go and try calling someone. Maybe there’s a way I can get them to open the drawbridge. Get you to matron.” </p><p>“I don’t <em> need </em> matron, Snow. I’m fine.” </p><p>“Alright,” I sigh, reaching up and smoothing a hand through his hair. “We could just … be friends, you know? I’m up for it. And, it <em> would </em> make our living arrangement much easier.” </p><p>“No it wouldn’t. Not for me.” </p><p>“How come?” </p><p>“I don’t <em> want </em> to be your <em> friend </em>, Snow.” </p><p>“Well then,” I pout. “You’re awfully contrary, aren’t you?” </p><p>“No, I just … wouldn’t be satisfied.” </p><p>“Hey!” I object. “Look … I may not <em> seem </em> like the best friend, but I love Penny. And Agatha, too. I never forget their birthdays. And I <em> try </em> to keep them safe. I’m good to my friends. So you <em> would </em> be ‘satisfied’ … Well, I think so, anyway. I know that you’re kinda’ hard to please, but you can’t just - You don’t even k <em> now </em> what it’s like to be my friend, so you can’t say you wouldn’t like it.” </p><p>“I didn’t mean it like that.” </p><p>“Then what?” </p><p>I push him away from my chest, for a moment - Looking him dead in the eyes. Trying to see what he’s not saying. </p><p>He lifts his hands to cover his face, but I stop him. Circling his wrists, lightly, and pulling his hands, laying them against my waist. </p><p>“We could be friends, Baz. We could be <em> better. </em> You just have to … let us try.” </p><p>“You don’t understand,” he groans. </p><p>“Then make me! We’ve got all night, here, bub. I’ll get it out of you eventually. So you may as well just … spit it out, now.”  </p><p>He looks at me doubtfully, and then stares down at my stomach. At his hands. At us. </p><p>“I want more,” he whispers, jaw set and back straight.</p><p>“More than what?” </p><p>“More than friends.” </p><p><em>I don’t know what I’m thinking.</em> <em>He wants? But I thought …?</em></p><p>“I thought you liked <em> Agatha?” </em> I blurt.</p><p>He rolls his eyes with a dramatic huff. “I <em> told </em> you I didn’t. I told you that <em> constantly.” </em></p><p>“But … you didn’t tell me <em> this?!” </em> </p><p>“There was no point, Simon” He sighs, pleadingly. “You’re straight. You’re almost definitely still in love with Wellbelove. You hate me. My family hates you. You’re the Chosen One, and I’m the Vill -”</p><p>I cut him off with a kiss. Cupping his face in my hands and holding him against me. Working my lips over his, and erasing all of his unseemly words, until he settles against me. Tension melting away under my ministrations, as we pour ourselves into each other. His hesitant reciprocation, filled with a sweet shyness. </p><p>And when I pull away, I’m breathless. He looks dazed out on bliss - Pupils blown wide and hair all sticky-up where I had knotted my hands - and it’s <em> bloody thrilling! </em> He’s so - Everything about this <em> ridiculous, </em> in the best possible way. The lunacy of passion, fizzing around my body - Filling me up with <em> Baz, Baz, Baz.  </em></p><p>“Simon-” he starts. </p><p>“Sorry,” I breathe. “Is that … Did you want me to? I was supposed to ask, I just …”</p><p>“I - It’s okay.” He stops for a moment, grey eyes assessing me. “I wanted it - Wanted you. But ... Why did you-” </p><p>“Because I wanted it to.”</p><p>“What?” He smiles, flashing me his teeth, before quickly squishing it down. Like he’s embarrassed to have given something away, accidentally. “Since when?”</p><p>I shrug, because I don’t know. It feels - I mean, It doesn’t <em> feel </em> new. But, I suppose that I’ve never really thought about it properly before now. </p><p>He squints, suspiciously, frowning at my unsatisfactory non-answer. “If you’re just doing this because you think I’m going to freeze, I’ll curse you into the next century, I swear -”</p><p>“Hey, hey, hey,” I giggle <em> (Since when do I fucking giggle?). </em> “Calm down there, killer. I’m not doing it because of that. <em> Don’t you listen? I said I wanted to.”  </em></p><p>He looks stricken. Biting at his lip, as he pulses his fists open and closed against my waist. “Why?”</p><p>“Why not?” </p><p>“Why not?” He laughs, bitterly. “There’s about a million reasons why not, you dolt!” </p><p>“Yeah, but … I want to. Why are you making this weird? You want to. I want to. It’s not complicated?” </p><p>“It bloody well is!” He argues. “Are you mad? The World hasn’t turned on it’s head just because you kissed me, Snow. You’re not <em> that </em>good.” </p><p>“Yeah but … Why are you even thinking about that? It’s just us here. So, we can worry about … all of <em> that, </em> later. Or not at all, I don’t know. This isn’t that. This is <em> different. </em> The Mage can’t tell me who I can and can’t kiss. And your Father can’t, either.” </p><p>“Do you even hear yourself?” He asks, shaking his head. “<em> ‘All of that’ is our whole lives. </em> There’s a war going on, Simon. And in case you’ve forgotten, we’re on opposite sides. It’s not that I don’t <em> want </em> this, but we have to be realistic.” </p><p>“Reality is shit, though,” I scoff. “And we’re not <em> really </em> on different sides. Or, we don’t have to be. Not if we decide otherwise. I don’t want to fight you. And … I’m guessing you don’t-” </p><p>“No,” he sighs. “I don’t. But it doesn’t matter what we want, Simon. We can’t change anything.” </p><p>“We could try.” </p><p>“Yes, we could. But we’d fail” </p><p>“So,” I say, tucking a stray piece of hair behind his ear, and nudging my face closer to his. “Don’t think about it, right now. There’s no need. Just … let us have this, yeah? Aren’t your - I mean, aren’t your lips getting cold?”  </p><p>His face flushes faster than I thought possible (A delightful shade of rose colouring the high-points of his cheeks), and he smiles over at me, sweetly. “Why?” </p><p>“You know why,” I tease, bumping my nose against his. “If this is what you want, then take it.”</p><p>He hesitates a moment, before shifting to straddle my lap. “You don’t get to start bossing me around, just because we snogged, Snow.”</p><p>“Just because we’re snogging,” I smirk, cradling his face in my hands and guiding him forwards, as he finally relents to it. Wrapping his arms around the back of my neck and kissing me with everything he has. His lips blissfully warm against mine. <em> Alive, alive, alive. </em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed :) Comments and kudos, appreciated.<br/>My Tumblr: <a href="https://mageicalwishes.tumblr.com/">Link text</a><br/>Also, if you notice any spelling/grammar mistakes, I got VERY carried away with this one, so am posting without my final check because it's really late as I'm finishing this! They will all be corrected once I wake up, so don't fret :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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